Mine to Keep

by Rhenna Morgan

  “I do. She’s very...” The man paused a moment and a wry smile crept into his voice, “opinionated.”

  Roman cut to the chase and stormed through the kitchen to the stairway beyond. “Release her to me unharmed, and I will spare you.”

  It was a lie and, given the answering chuckle Roman received, the man knew it, too. “Come now, Mr. Kozlov. I am not like the amateurs you deal with every day. It may bolster your confidence to believe you can hurt me or my men, but we both know I’ve already proven that taking me out will be a challenge.”

  Nearly to the top of the stairs, Roman growled his response. “Do not underestimate me. I have much experience when it comes to challenges.”

  “Yes. You and your colleagues all hail from Russia and grew up in a life similar to mine. My men tell me you have quite a reputation as an assassin. But it is hard for you to kill someone you don’t know how to find, isn’t it?”

  Roman barged into Sergei’s office, drawing both Kir and Sergei’s attention at once. Roman motioned for Kir to mute Knox’s voice coming through the speaker phone then answered with all the certainty in him. “I will find you, and when I do, hell will rain down on you and your men. Or you can simply give me my bride now and save all of your lives.”

  The man sighed. A long suffering one that said he was weary of the whole ordeal altogether. “Let’s not beat our chests. It’s an unnecessary action considering we both want something and are in a position to make a simple exchange.”

  “And what is it you want?”

  Sergei stood slowly and rounded his desk.

  Kir typed something on his keyboard, then reclined against his seat back and crossed his arms in front of him, watching Roman.

  “You want your fiancée. I want her computer and for you and your family to stay out of my affairs. Completely.”

  “And her family?”

  “If you can keep them in line and out of my business, then I’ll give them to you as well. Though, if I hear one word about either of them talking, they won’t live long enough to speak again.”

  The scheme Bonnie had overheard her brother and father talking about the day they’d been taken—clearly, he’d decided to strong-arm someone who not only didn’t like being backed into a corner, but had the means to cut the head off a threatening snake. “They will not talk. If they do, you are welcome to them.”

  The man grunted. “Yes, I can see where you’d be less inclined to offer them your protection. Idiots.” He paused a moment and movement sounded in the background. “There is a warehouse on Jourdan Road. The street address is 6202, but there is a gate at the far end. It will be left open tonight. Be there promptly at midnight with the computer in your possession and we will make our exchange.”

  “We will be there.”

  “By we I assume Mr. Petrovyh and Mr. Vasilek will be accompanying you.”

  “Of course. This is my pakhan’s city. Why would he not be present?” It was a subtle dig—a reminder of who was on home court and who was not.

  “Hmm.” Another sigh and what sounded like plastic castors on concrete. “That’s a brave risk, the three of you attending together. Though, not surprising. As you will, Mr. Kozlov. We’ll see you tonight. Midnight.”

  With that, the call went silent.

  As soon as Roman lowered the phone from his ear, Sergei engaged. “What do they want?”

  “Bonnie’s computer. He gave an address on Jourdan Road for midnight tonight and offered Bonnie and her family in exchange for the device.”

  “Anything else?”

  Roman shook his head. “Only that we agreed to take no further action against him and that we keep her brother and father quiet.” He looked to Kir. “He did not give a name.”

  Kir straightened from his semi-reclined pose and typed a few words on his computer. “We don’t need it.” He turned the computer around for Roman and Sergei to get a better look. “Knox and I pieced it together just before you walked in the door. Erick Rossi. On paper he shows as Chief Financial Officer for a pharmaceutical supply company out of Florida, but his real connection is to a major drug player in Southern California.”

  “He’s a middleman?” Roman asked.

  “So, it seems,” Kir said, “but not a very smart one. The supply company is a front for their connection with a pharmaceutical manufacturer in Florida. The manufacturer fell on hard times—too much competition. They opted to enter the black market for street sales rather than going out of business. But they had no clue how to market their product.”

  “But Rossi did,” Roman said.

  Kir nodded. “And then some. Rossi is their connection to the dark web. In exchange for his know-how and keeping the manufacturer tied in, Rossi gets a cut, the vast majority of which should be going to his boss in California.”

  He tapped a few keystrokes and the database layout on the screen shifted to two side-by-side versions. He pointed to the one on the left. “This is the older of the two databases. It shows deposits going to an offshore account. The other shows each deposit changed to one that eventually ends up back in Bolivia in the bank account of his boss where it should have been all along.”

  “And Kevin found this data somehow?” Sergei asked.

  “No.” The pieces fell together for Roman as he spoke. “Bonnie said he’s been hired many times for hacking jobs. He was probably hired to change the data for Rossi. Better for a foolish outsider to do it than for one of his own men to do it. That way Rossi covers his tracks and frames a sloppy hacker instead.”

  Kir nodded. “Cassie tells me that Bonnie specifically mentioned her brother and father arguing the day they disappeared. That the disagreement was about money. It may be Kevin decided to use the information he’d found and saved to blackmail Rossi.”

  “A rash move at best,” Sergei said. He motioned to the laptop with his chin. “Who is Rossi’s boss?”

  A wry grin from his brother was the last thing Roman had expected, but from the look on his face, Kir couldn’t wait to drop his latest bit of information. “A woman by the name of Gretta Sosa.”

  Sergei smiled. A wicked one that said he wasn’t just pleased, but had the perfect plan to stack the dominos in their favor. “Well, then. We have data, a name and fifteen hours to work with. I suggest we make full use of it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jourdan Road ran the eastern length of New Orleans’s Inner Harbor Navigation Canal—a waterway that conveniently connected Lake Pontchartrain to the Mississippi River. While Roman hadn’t exactly been a stranger to the terrain in his time since moving to New Orleans, by the time the sun set he’d personally combed every warehouse entrance and exit along the aged brown road and had mapped every possible means to navigate to their target destination—including the dock options off the canal and the overgrown entrances from neighboring buildings.

  An old, water stained concrete wall ran along one side of the road—either to keep flood waters at bay for the neighborhoods farther east of the canal, or to muffle the railroad noise for the residents beyond. Feed chutes ran every half mile or so from the many grain silos on one side of the road to the warehouses backed up to the canal and thick metal electric poles stood in neat rows like industrial sentries.

  But his main focus had been the pale gray building that stretched as long as a football field and boasted enough docking bays along the front to handle a swarm of semis at once. Once upon a time, the building had been part of the agricultural industry, but now served as storage and a staging area for all manner of shipments.

  He stared at the building under the darkest night skies. The clouds that had hung heavy throughout the day had remained tonight, keeping the stars and moon hidden.

  All the better for their plans.

  Kir steered Sergei’s bulletproof sedan close to the side entrance where two guards wearing black long-sleeved shirts and black pants waited
and put the gearshift in park.

  11:58 p.m.

  Almost time.

  While they’d all held their silence for much of the drive over, Sergei’s voice from the backseat in that moment was filled with both warning and deep understanding. “I know where you are, moy brat. I know all the plans you have made for Rossi since his men put their hands on Bonnie.” He paused, a silence designed to give his words more weight. “But you will risk many lives if you do not maintain control.”

  Roman managed a clipped nod, but otherwise kept his gaze on the warehouse and the gooseneck lamp shining on the main entrance. His pakhan wasn’t one to pay lip service to such a moment. He did know how it felt to be in Roman’s shoes. Had waited nearly as many hours to track down Evette and Emerson’s captor and save his wife and child.

  But he’d held on to his control. And in the end, the woman who’d dared to touch Evette and Emerson had suffered greatly.

  Erick Rossi would experience the same.

  “We have a plan,” Kir added. “A good one. Now we let it play out.”

  It had been years since Roman had felt fear. Perhaps as long ago as his first kill. But the brutality of it hit him now. The cold sweat. The clammy hands and short, choppy breaths. If anything went wrong and Bonnie was hurt, it would be on him. On his failure to protect her. It didn’t matter that Bonnie had insisted on going in the first place. Only that he should have heeded his instincts and prevented it.

  The digital clock on the dash flipped to midnight, and Sergei commanded them forward. “It is time.”

  Sergei preceded them both, Kir and Roman flanking him on either side as a slight winter breeze whipped around the building. As they neared the guards, one of them dipped their head in acknowledgment and opened the door.

  With Bonnie’s computer held loosely in one hand for all to see, Roman followed Sergei inside while Kir took up the rear. All of them were fully armed, though it only took a quick scan of their surroundings to accept they were clearly outnumbered. Two to one, if they factored in the guards outside.

  Four men formed a loose parameter at each side of the building, stationed by one of many wooden crates. Crates that would serve as convenient cover should gunfire come into play. A wide banker’s desk that looked like it had been manufactured forty years ago sat in front of a row of file cabinets and haphazard papers were strewn on top of it. Industrial fluorescents overhead cast the space in a sterile, cold light and highlighted just how active the building was during normal working hours.

  But no sign of Bonnie or her family.

  From the shadows beyond, footsteps clipped against the clean concrete floors. Several pairs of them—which meant the disadvantage was about to go up significantly. The first to emerge from the darkness was a well-dressed dark-haired man with an average build. Behind him were two men wearing the same black long-sleeved shirt and pant combination worn by all the other guards. Each of them held military grade Browning Automatic rifles braced in both hands.

  “Mr. Petrovyh.” The suit-clad man in front strode forward and held out his hand. “I appreciate your punctual arrival.”

  “Mr. Rossi.” Sergei accepted the man’s handshake, but did so with a smirk at the men wielding firearms behind him. “Interesting that you felt the need to come so well armed. A bit much for a simple exchange, is it not?”

  “Well,” Rossi said holding out his hands to each side, “one can never know what to expect with new acquaintances.”

  “Or one might need to rely on intimidation tactics, rather than business-like conduct.” Not waiting to let the subtle jab sink in, Sergei scanned the deep shadows where the men had appeared from. “Where is Miss Drummond?”

  Rossi’s gaze dropped to the computer in Roman’s hand then shuttled back to Sergei. “She is safe. As you can imagine, I wanted to confirm you brought the computer intact as requested before bringing her in.”

  “You will not touch the computer until I see Bonnie and her family,” Roman said.

  While the gruff outburst went against their agreed upon plan, Sergei still seemed to fight a smile. “My brother is short on patience, Mr. Rossi. You claim to be a man of business. One experienced in our way of life. And yet you knowingly laid hands on a brother’s bride. The fact that he’s even entertaining this trade rather than ripping your head from your body shows tremendous control.”

  Rossi turned his malicious black stare on Roman. “It would be entertaining to see you try.”

  Greed.

  Indifference.

  Evil.

  It was all there. A gluttony of power that had all but wiped out good sense.

  But Roman would replace it with new emotions. Terror. Misery. Bone-chilling desperation. All he had to do was keep his cool for a bit longer. “If you want to lay hands on this device, you will bring me Bonnie, her father and her brother.”

  Rossi shook his head and chuckled. “Such theatrics.” He shifted his gaze to Sergei, then Kir and added, “Perhaps it is a Russian thing. We Americans are more...refined in our dealings.”

  Sergei didn’t flinch.

  Nor did Kir.

  All three of them merely stared the pompous ass down with calm, almost bored smirks.

  Sighing, Rossi motioned to the men carrying guns. “Bring them in. Let’s get this over with.”

  It took a solid three minutes, the silence as each second ticked by building the tension until the air fairly crackled. Too much energy. Too many guns and twitchy fingers. The trick would be to keep Bonnie out of the middle of the room. Somewhere close to the crates where he could shield her if needed.

  A door slammed shut from somewhere unseen and the shuffling pattern of unsteady footsteps filtered from the darkness.

  Bonnie.

  Her face was the first he saw, her eyes wide with both fear and hope as she helped her father into the room. Kevin manned his father’s other side. Though, how he managed to help anyone walk—let alone see where he was going with such a battered face—was a mystery.

  “There,” Rossi said. “As you can see, your bride, as you call her, is well and unharmed.”

  Unharmed, yes, and in far better condition than Kevin or her father, but her skin was pale and he’d bet she hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

  Roman met her stare and willed her to understand. Begged her the only way he could to remain still and quiet.

  Sergei twisted just enough to address Roman over one shoulder, his voice just loud enough to carry through the wide space. “Let him review the machine.”

  One beat.

  Then two.

  Slow but short heel strikes sounded against the concrete and a firm feminine voice sounded. “I believe I’d like to review the machine as well.”

  Gretta Sosa walked casually into view, a petite and strikingly attractive woman with wavy dark hair to her shoulders. Her attire seemed more befitting a high-class lawyer—a fitted tan tweed skirt to her knees with a smart matching jacket and classic sand-colored heels. Behind her were four new men dressed in fine, yet understated suits. The gun-toting guards who’d followed Rossi into the meeting fell in behind them.

  Rossi’s head snapped back at the sight of his boss and he staggered back a step before he caught himself and firmed his stance. “Ms. Sosa.”

  Dipping her head to Sergei first, Gretta turned her attention on Rossi, stopping just out of reaching distance. “Odd that I’m finding you in Louisiana, Erick. I don’t recall you sharing any business dealings in this state.”

  Swallowing hard, Rossi bobbed his head and swiped at the opportunity her opening had created. “I didn’t mention it because it’s a new association. An introduction.”

  “Is that so?” Gretta said. She glanced at Sergei, then surveyed Bonnie and her family before facing him once more. “Funny because Mr. Petrovyh and I just had an interesting conversation this morning. One that included very compell
ing evidence against you, Erick. Compelling enough that I’ve made a very long journey to investigate in person. Here. Tonight.”

  Rossi shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. There has to be a misunderstanding.”

  “Really?” She turned to Roman holding the computer and Kevin who seemed to barely be keeping himself and his father upright. “From what I’ve heard and seen tonight, you appear to have gone to great lengths to regain data lost to this young man. Data you asked him to change in an effort to steal from me.”

  “No. You have it all wrong.” Rossi pointed to Kevin. “He was the one stealing from us.”

  Bonnie’s voice cut through the warehouse. “Like hell he was.”

  Roman glared her direction and willed her to keep her place.

  For a split second, she met his gaze, but went back to glaring daggers at Rossi. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with keeping her father upright, she’d have likely stormed the distance and gotten in Rossi’s face. “You hired him to do your dirty work. You told me so yourself this morning.”

  “There we have it,” Gretta said to Erick. “Your involvement confirmed by an innocent.”

  “She’s not an innocent,” Erick said. “She’s his sister. She’s probably got half the money.”

  Gretta clasped her hands in front of her and cocked her head slightly, the same knowing smile on her face a mother would aim at her child when she knew with absolute certainty they were lying. “Now, Erick. Do you think I would be so foolish as to disrupt my schedule and deal with you personally had I not traced the money in question?”

  “There’s a mistake,” Rossi said. “He made it look as if I’d taken the money.”

  “Not just a little money,” Gretta said. “Over fifteen million dollars. Even the most skilled hacker would find it difficult to hide that kind of money. This boy is entry level at best.”